The Pig

When I was 18 I was a fast-food cook at a takeout stand in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, called the Pig n Puppy, a name so clumsy and unappealing that I had a difficult time admitting I worked there. (The Pig stood for barbecue and the Puppy for hushpuppies  which is what we served.) But a new restaurant on La Brea has trumped that, and then some.

The Pig.

The Pig as a restaurant name is so funny and wicked and nervy and audacious, well, I just had to go there.

Just south of Melrose, sandwiched, as it were, between the Showcase movie theater and Louis XIV, The Pig is a Memphis-style barbecue stand. And an all-out piece of Americana complete with a new-age Wurlitzer, a CD-spinning Rockola featuring whole album sides of, say, Elvis, Aerosmith, Marc Anthony. The counters and handful of tables are red-and-white-checked Formica; the largest seating area is at the tables out on the sidewalk. Images of Elvis, Jay Leno and Porky Pig grace the walls, and a huge red menu looms down. The crew wear cab-yellow T-shirts; the musics on loud; the whole place is charmingly assaultive and all but screams franchise.

Which might not be a bad thing.

I have been pretty happy eating at The Pig. The Memphis-style barbecue is almost identical to North Carolinastyle barbecue in that its slow-cooked pork shoulder thats either pulled (in chunks) or chopped  except that The Pigs version has more flavor. Its delicious  smoky, well-seasoned, a barbecued version of carnitas. Hint: Stuff some of The Pigs sweet coleslaw right into your pork sandwich; the light creaminess and cool crunch of the green cabbage set off the rich, spiced meat.

St. Louisstyle spareribs have the sauce cooked on  theyre wet, in a word  so that theyre blistered and blackened and caramelized and sticky and very juicy, a lush, almost candied meat. Hickory-smoked baby back ribs are dry, that is, rubbed with seasonings and smoked, and, if the eater is inclined, can be dipped into a barbecue sauce of choice. (There are several house-bottled sauces on the table:Smokin Spicy, Red Hot Vinegar, Sweet Mustard, Sweet N Sassy.) These baby ribs are more subtle than their larger St. Louis brothers, less sweet, less fatty, and to my mind better overall  although this surely is a matter of personal taste. Luckily, both are terrific versions.

Other must-have menu items include the applewood-smoked brisket; as a dinner or in a sandwich, it has the tenderness of a pot roast and the profound smokiness of slow-cooked barbecue. Sides include that judiciously dressed sweet coleslaw, the spicier red-cabbage Cajun coleslaw and an excellent potato salad. Barbecued beans, turnip greens  both are prime examples of their type. The jalapeño corn bread, however, is unremarkable. Oily.

I am happy to report there are no puppies at The Pig.

Skip the New Orleans chicken-wing appetizer and go for the vinegar-glazed semiblackened barbecued chicken. The catfish po boy has a good crunchy breaded fillet, but not much else going for it. Hey, not everythings perfect at The Pig!

And, just to say you have, try an order of fried dill-pickle chips. Thin, sour, succulent dill slices wear a beer batter that is at once alluringly chewy and crunchy  I really cant decide if theyre inspired or disgusting. The accompanying spiced mayonnaise definitely tips the scale toward the latter.

Lemonade is squeezed fresh every day  the use of sugar is unflinching, and authentic. Designer sodas are somehow perfect for this newfangled, high-concept, gleaming franchise-to-be. Choose from orange or grape Nehi, Blenheim ginger ale or Frosties eerie blue cream soda.

Out of sheer necessity  the surrounding neighborhood is beastly for parking  The Pig has a valet. Before you hand over your keys (and $3.50), make sure theres a place to sit. Otherwise phone ahead, double-park and carry out. The Pig has a number of excellent, reasonably priced to-go packages with meats, multiple sides, sauces, cutlery and a generous supply of napkins and wet naps.